The Fortress
by crimepays
Summary: Santana is forced to return to Lima after a long absence. Once there, she struggles to hold up the walls that threaten to crash down around her.


_Moving a couple of my favorite pieces from my LJ acct over here._

**The Fortress**

* * *

><p>The Ohio State University was so big, sometimes Santana thought she would forget her own name. Seven years later, she hadn't forgotten her name, but she had nearly achieved her goal of forgetting Lima. She had quickly settled into a new life in downtown Columbus, heading out to the bars on the weekend and forging her career as an associate attorney at a mid-size law firm during the week.<p>

Columbus was just a few hours from Lima, but since leaving home, Santana made sure that it felt like a million miles away. Except for Christmas morning and Thanksgiving night, in the confines of the Lopez home, Santana never visited her hometown. After confessing her love for Brittany in junior year and watching her world consequently collapse, she vowed to leave Lima behind. Acceptance and a scholarship to Ohio State, then to the law school meant that she wouldn't be going as far away as she planned, at least physically. But mentally, Santana had made an effort to forget the once-daily routes she used to take to high school, Brittany's house, and the mall. Lima had sprawled over the years, but Santana saw none of it, nor did she care.

Later, a few days after her father's death, she cared. As her mom told it, his car was pulling out of a strip-mall parking lot. He'd gone to pick up food for a Fourth of July cookout. A car ran the light. He was dead. She wanted to understand. She drove toward what was once a vacant lot with weeds pushing through broken concrete. When she pulled into the neon-lit strip-mall, she parked, facing the road, rested her forehead against the steering wheel and cried. Nothing was the same. The buildings were different. The roads were different. Even the fucking traffic lights were different. Her father died in a foreign place.

After a late night conversation with her mother, Santana went home to Columbus. She stuffed a large suitcase with the first clothes she could find, left a message at work about bereavement leave, and made the drive back.

Sleeping in her childhood bedroom, once painted pink but during her rebellious high school years coated pitch black, Santana dropped her bags and curled into her bed, burying her face in a pillow. Muffled sobs echoed through the room. She was detached. She didn't know this bed, this house, this town any more. She wasn't sure she knew her father any more either. Calling once a month and visiting twice a year wasn't winning her "Daughter of the Year."

Her brothers handled the onslaught of sympathizers dropping off casseroles or calling to offer support. Her mother set to work organizing the funeral. At her mother's request, Santana sat down with her father's lawyer to review the will for his burial wishes.

After reading the will, Santana had informed her mother that there was to be no viewing, just a short and simple funeral service, followed by a private burial. Santana's heart pounded as they drove to the funeral home. Since high school, she had hardened and rarely allowed herself to be vulnerable in public. When she was berated in front of the whole firm on her second day of work, she clenched her jaw and nodded. Today, she realized, the fortifications may collapse.

Standing in the drab greeting room awaiting guests, Santana's palms began to sweat. She felt a drop of sweat slide down her lower back. The conservative black jacket and skirt that she bought for trials because of its advertised "breathe-ability," seemed to be failing her now. She felt a flush creep onto her skin.

She was prepared to greet and shallowly acknowledge her father's doctor friends and golf buddies with their trophy wives and plastic surgery. She had hobnobbed at partners' lunches for the firm once a month. As they rolled in, she shook hands, patted backs, embraced in limp hugs, then passed them down the line to her brothers. Every so often, she reached to her left and rubbed her mother's back or passed her another tissue.

She wasn't sure if her father would have liked the service. Her mother said he would have, but she didn't know. She had never met this minister before. His memories of her father didn't match her own. The hymn and passage were not her father's favorites from childhood, she was sure of that. Much of the actual service, her mind struggled to make sense of her father. Perhaps a way to keep the fortress standing, rather than give in to collapse.

Long after the cars had disappeared, Santana began packing up the mementos, flowers, and food from the service to load into the car. The sun had almost set and the family had a night to reflect before the burial in the morning. Santana picked up a vase of flowers and swiped her car keys to begin the packing. As she rounded the building she noticed a person sitting in a dark blue sedan toward the back of the lot. She opened her trunk and began rearranging its contents.

"Santana," a voice hoarsely whispered from behind. Faint recognition played across her face as she slowly turned into the voice. Before her, toned pale legs, flowing bohemian-style dress, wavy blonde hair pulled loosely back, deep blue eyes. Brittany.

Santana lost her voice. Her breath quivered. Her fortifications faltered.

"San," Brittany hoarsely whispered again, taking a step closer and reaching an arm out.

Santana stepped into the girl, buried her face in Brittany's neck, and lost her weight in the hug, practically dragging Brittany to the concrete. Her tears washed against Brittany's neck, her open mouth panted then wailed into her hair. She felt Brittany's strong arms pull her into a stifling hug, and her hands run up and down her back.

Between her sobs, Brittany's voice echoed softly in her ears, "I'm so sorry, San. I'm so sorry."

Each apology took on a different meaning.

* * *

><p>Santana heard her mother's heels clicking across the parking lot.<p>

"Santana, who's th.." she began, before Santana pulled away and Mrs. Lopez recognized the blonde girl from years before. "Oh, Brittany Pierce."

"Hi, Mrs. Lopez," Brittany said shyly, eyes dropping to the parking lot, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Brittany." She turned to Santana, "Mija, we're going home. Your brothers can take me. I'll see you back at the house."

"Ok, Mom." Santana watched as her mother moved toward her brother's car. Her brothers had finished loading and were looking across the parking lot, back at her and Brittany. The two girls stood in silence until the car drove away.

"My feet hurt, can we sit in the car?" Santana said, looking down at the heels she had been wearing all day. She closed the trunk and climbed in the driver's seat, unlocking the doors so that Brittany could get in. The heat from the sun earlier in the day still clung to the black leather seats. Santana had bought the car as a present to herself after her second paycheck from the firm. She rolled down the windows and inhaled deeply, adjusting the seat to stretch her legs and lean back.

She could feel Brittany's eyes on her, despite the dark surroundings that night cast around them.

"Brittany," she paused, the first utterance of the girl's name in almost seven years hanging in the air. "What are you doing here?" She turned to look at Brittany, who now turned to the passenger's window. Santana was almost surprised to find her eyes dry, her jaw clenched. Memories of their shared past began to fall from her mind, steeling her.

"I heard about your dad. My mom showed me his obituary in the newspaper. I thought... I just wanted to pay my respects. But when I got here, I psyched myself out of coming inside. I thought maybe you wouldn't want me here. So, I just waited in the parking lot. I thought maybe I'd see you and I could pay my respects privately. Is that okay?" Brittany turned back to find Santana's hardened eyes.

"That's fine. Thank you."

Brittany waited for more. She didn't want it to be over already. In her mind, she had been having this conversation with Santana for seven years. She couldn't allow for the actual talk to end with so few words exchanged.

"How are you?" She finally asked, choosing an open-ended question that would allow Santana to talk.

"I'm fine, relatively speaking."

"Oh. Are you still in Columbus?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm a lawyer."

This still wasn't going the way Brittany had hoped. She chose a different angle. "A lawyer? That's amazing, Santana. I'm so impressed. I'm still living in my parent's house, teaching dance classes."

Santana wasn't sure what to say. Hearing Brittany admit her lack of success since college made her feel like a bitch for her previous curt responses. "How are your parents?"

"The same," Brittany replied, happy to have a two-sided conversation. Her eyes met and held Santana's gaze for a moment and her heart flitted.

Overwhelmed by the sustained silence, Santana cut in, "I should go. It was good to see you. Take care."

Brittany's heart and mind raced. "C-can I call you?"

Santana clicked the unlock button on the car door and turned the keys in the ignition. "We'll see."

Brittany opened the door and stepped out, sadly looking back at Santana before closing the door and walking back to her own car. Unable to watch, Santana quickly backed her car out and sped toward home.

Without her mother in the car to play navigator, she turned down the radio and turned on the GPS. The funeral home was in a recently developed part of town, an area that just a few years ago might have been home to the year-end WMHS bonfire party. The bonfire party, Santana reminisced, where she stumbled upon Brittany and Artie going at it in the field while she was looking for a place to pee. She recalled the bonfire party from the end of junior year, where it had been Artie who stumbled (or wheeled, she thought with a chuckle) upon them going at it and had forbidden Brittany from any more of her "sweet lady kisses," as Brittany loved to say in those days. Though Santana had confessed her love a few months earlier and been rejected, Brittany still followed the "different plumbing" rule. Alone in the car, recollecting high school memories of Brittany, mascara-stained tears slowly ran down her cheeks.

* * *

><p>The only way Santana felt she could reconnect with her father was to study him. When not pounding away at her laptop for work, she was in his home office, flipping through business records, patient correspondences, and personal keepsakes. Each time she discovered something new, regret coursed through her and caused her to get up, close the door, curl into the armchair that still smelled of him, and cry.<p>

A week and a half after his death, the phone was still ringing constantly. Two days after the funeral service, Santana's brother had called her into the kitchen after the phone rang.

"Brittany Pierce is on the phone for you," he said in a concerned tone, his hand muffling the receiver. He was only two years younger than Santana and well aware of her past and current feelings toward the girl, even if those feelings had never been directly communicated to him.

Santana's heart thudded. "I can't," she said, after a long pause. "Wait, tell her I went back to Columbus."

She stood in the kitchen, listening in on the short conversation. Her neck strained at times, hoping to catch a reverberation of Brittany's voice.

The truth wasn't that far off. With a fairly new job, Santana would have to be back in Columbus within a week or two. She could probably get away with bereavement leave for another week, then use a couple of personal days, but she couldn't stay here forever. Lima was never in the plans. Though her father's sudden death wasn't either.

Eventually, Santana went through all of her father's papers. Still in search of catharsis, she loaded the car with empty boxes and made the trip with her youngest brother to pack up her father's work office. With her brother in tow, she decided it best to pack as quickly as possible and sift through the new material back at home, in the privacy of his home office. Only once, she prided herself, did she have to dart to the restroom as tears welled in her eyes. She blotted, took a few deep breaths, and returned quickly, under no suspicion from her brother.

Returning home, she saw the same dark blue sedan from the funeral home. Her stomach sank. She unloaded a box from the trunk and took it inside. From the back porch, she heard voices. Her mother and Brittany. She slid open the glass door and stepped into the enclosed porch where her mother sat in a wicker chair facing Brittany, both sipping on iced tea.

"Santana, look who came by!" Mrs. Lopez said with a smile. Brittany stood, unsure of whether to hug Santana, wait for her to be seated, or just leave. Santana flashed a polite smile and moved past her, settling in a chair between the two. She picked up her mother's iced tea and took a sip.

"Honey, we were just talking about the time when your father came to the father-daughter Cheerios dance. Do you remember that?" Brittany and her mother both honed in on her, smiling and nodding. Santana recalled the dance from sophomore year. Her father and Brittany had shimmied all over the dance floor together, while she looked on in embarrassment. She had argued with Brittany that night, but it had resulted in one of their earliest make-out sessions in her tree house.

"Yeah, I remember," she whispered, glancing over at Brittany, wondering if she remembered the rest of the night, too.

The smile faded from Mrs. Lopez's face as she felt an awkward silence settle. "Ok, girls, give me a shout if you need more tea. I'm going inside."

"Thanks, Mrs. Lopez."

Once her mom was inside, Santana stared down at her feet. She ran through her list of excuses, anticipating Brittany's next question. Instead, she got an unexpected question.

"Why did your brother lie?" Hurt spread across Brittany's face as she looked over at Santana.

"I told him to," Santana quietly responded, looking up into Brittany's eyes.

"Should I go?" Brittany whispered in response, holding Santana's gaze.

Santana didn't answer. She couldn't bring herself to say yes. She couldn't bring herself to say no.

Brittany forged ahead. "Artie and I haven't been together since our first year of college, Santana." She cringed and broke eye contact at the sound of his name. She stared at her feet.

"I haven't been with anyone for years." Santana looked up again.

"I tried to find you Santana. I tried to get in touch with you." The words were now pouring out of Brittany as tears welled in her eyes. "I talked to your brothers. One gave me the phone number to a liquor store, the other one said that you went missing. I talked to your mom, who would just say, 'You need to talk to Santana, not me.' I talked to your dad." Tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. At the mention of her father, Santana leaned forward. "He said that he wished he could help me, and that I should stop by next Thanksgiving. I was gonna come by in November. I was."

Santana felt the blood rush to her head and her heart pound. Her father had tried to reconnect her and Brittany? Tears pooled in her eyes now, too, as she forced a look over her shoulder and into the back yard, avoiding eye contact.

"What do you want me to say, Brittany?" she choked out through sobs, still turned away from the girl. She paused for a long moment, pulling herself back together, rebuilding the fortress. She turned to face her, eyes once again hardened and staring through Brittany. "What am I supposed to say? I was never supposed to see you again. What do you want from me?"

Brittany's face unraveled as she inhaled sharply. Tears dropped off her cheeks and onto the porch as she stood and turned to leave.

As she left, Santana realized that she had never seen Brittany cry before. Not when she had a fake pregnancy scare, not when Santana pushed her away after confessing her love, not even when Santana screamed that she never wanted to see her again. When she heard the car pull away, Santana buried her face in her hands and cried.

* * *

><p>The sliding glass door opened and Santana's mother reappeared.<p>

She took a seat next to Santana, who was still hunched over, head buried in her hands, and gently rubbed the girl's back.

"Let me tell you a story," she began, as Santana lifted her head to look back at her mother. "It must have been about twenty years ago, when the Pierce's first moved to town. You and Brittany were taking a dance class together and the Pierce family invited us over for a Memorial Day barbecue. Do you remember that, or were you too young?"

Santana looked at her mother and nodded, head propped up by her elbows, resting in her lap, tears still welled in her eyes.

Mrs. Lopez smiled, still gently rubbing her daughter's back. "When we got to their house, you were fascinated with that tree house of theirs. You just couldn't believe that there could be a house in the trees that you could play in. Brittany kept calling it 'The Fort,' and you were bouncing around chanting 'Fort! Fort! Fort!' all through dinner."

Santana smiled, recalling her nickname for the tree house.

"Finally, after dessert, your dad helped you two go up into the fort. You must have stayed there for the next three hours." She laughed. "Your dad had to climb up that little rope ladder and pull you two out. You had fallen asleep up there with all of your games."

Santana sat up and laughed with her mother. "Dad was always coming to the rescue," Santana said.

"He was." Mrs. Lopez paused. "You know, we knew about you and Brittany." Santana's eyes met her mother's. "The way you two went rushing up to your room after Cheerios practice, and you'd be on the phone with her at all hours, we knew. It always scared me a little. I mean, the way people might treat you two. But your father, he would just say, 'Let her be happy.' That's all he wanted." Her mother's voice cracked as she recollected her husband's words.

Santana leaned over and pulled her mother into a hug. "Sometimes, to be happy," she whispered into her daughter's hair, "you need to let go, Santana."

* * *

><p>The day before she was set to return to Columbus, Santana decided to let go. Despite her efforts to forget Lima, she knew this route by heart. When she pulled up outside of Brittany's house, there were no cars in the driveway. She knocked on the door, but it went unanswered. She walked through the yard to Brittany's window and tapped. Nothing.<p>

She turned to look into the yard. She sat on the swingset where she and Brittany had "Superman" contests to see who could jump the highest. It creaked as it gently rocked back and forth. She looked up to the tree house, "the fort," as Brittany had called it when they were younger. The rope ladder dragged against the ground, leading about eight feet up to the hand built play house. Santana tugged on the rope gently, then a little more firmly, testing it. At the top, she crawled safely inside and looked around.

The same camping lantern sat in the corner covered in dust. She saw Brittany's Easy Bake oven, where she used to "cook" Santana breakfast. A pile of blankets sat balled up, reminding Santana of the sleepovers they used to have in the fort, all the way through high school. Brittany's house wasn't very big, and her room was on the first floor, so when the weather was right and Santana was spending the night, they always found themselves in the fort.

As the sun began to set, she reached for the lantern and wiped away the dust. A smile came across her face as it turned on. The dull yellow light flickering against the wooden walls. Fifteen years ago, that same light flickered against the same walls as she leaned in to kiss Brittany for the first time. They were in middle school and Brittany had not yet had her first kiss. Santana, always the more experienced one, told her it was simple. Then, she showed her.

Santana ran her fingers across the wall where Brittany had etched "Brittany & Santana." She wasn't sure exactly when this had appeared. She figured it was some time just after they sang together for the first time in Glee Club and just before she had made the big confession. Her jaw clenched as she thought about the memories that followed that day. Her father's words, recalled in her mother's voice, rang back through her mind, "Let go," she whispered to herself.

Lost in her thoughts and memories, Santana did not hear the movement behind her. "Hello?" A voice called into the tree house. "Santana?" Brittany's head appeared in the doorway, as she pulled herself up the rope ladder.

Santana turned to face Brittany, seeing her make the move to stand in the small fort. Thinking better of it, Brittany returned to her hands and knees and crawled closer. "Remember when we could stand up in here?" She laughed.

Santana smiled. "The older we got, the less standing we did."

Both girls laughed. The dim yellow of the lantern lit up Brittany's flushed face and flickered shadows of the two girls against the wooden walls. Santana scooted to the door's edge and let her feet hang, looking into the night sky. Brittany scooted next to her, admiring the same view.

"What are you doing up here?" Brittany asked, turning to Santana.

"Remembering," Santana said, searching for constellations, a middle school past time.

Brittany looked back out into the sky and did the same. "Orion," Brittany called out, pointing and tracing the stars in the sky.

Santana smiled, following Brittany's pattern with her eyes. "Your favorite, Delphinus." Santana traced a set of stars with her finger.

"Dolphin!"

Santana laughed, turning to see Brittany's excitement. Brittany turned to meet Santana's brown eyes, excitement still washed across her face. "Wanna build a blanket fort?" Brittany turned her body to grab the blankets from the corner.

Santana's hand grasped onto Brittany's and lightly pressed it into the wood, stopping her. "Britt," she whispered. Brittany, still leaning back, had paused and turned to look at Santana. A pained smile flashed across Santana's face. "We don't need to build a fort." The words floated in the air. Brittany held Santana's gaze, as tears welled in her brown eyes.

"I love you Brittany." Santana said hoarsely. "As much as I tried, It never went away."

Brittany pulled her body back up and turned into Santana, hand still trapped between hers and the wood. Gently, she placed her other hand on Santana's thigh. The soft light illuminated her blue eyes. "I love you, too, Santana," she whispered, leaning in. As both girls closed their eyes, Brittany paused, lidding her eyes to look down at Santana's full lips. "I'm sorry I didn't do this eight years ago," her warm breath absorbed into Santana's skin, "but I've thought about it every day since." Her lips pressed softly against Santana's as she felt the other girl's tears land on her own skin. Drawing back from Santana, Brittany cupped her hands on Santana's cheeks and wiped the tears away.

Leaving Lima seven years ago did not make Lima disappear. New buildings popped up, businesses came and went, but Santana finally recognized that some things had not changed. Brittany's lips still felt the same against her own. The "fort" held still held almost all of her favorite memories, to which she could add a new one. Her family still protected her and her wishes, despite the internal fortress she tried to run on her own. And her father's love still coursed through her as she once again remembered happiness.


End file.
